Into the Drift
by CaptMansome
Summary: After a horrible blizzard separates young Kristoff's from Sven and the Ice Harvesting crew, the young boy must now contend against the cold, hunger and the hidden dangers of the fjord. With only his trusty ax and raw determination, can Kristoff survive this harsh reality? Or is he doomed to join the beautiful frozen landscape he once called home?


Into The Drift

By Capt. Mansome

**Chapter 1**

When I caught up with him, it had been two days since the blizzard. Trudging through the snow Kristoff carried what remained of the sled in his sack along with his merger provisions. The snow was soft and stacked low to his waist, easy enough for a grown man but walking was a effort for him, his feet digging hard into every step leaving an orderly trail that the drift blurred out moments later. The sun was low and it wouldn't be long now before it dipped over the horizon; it was a most beautiful sight to behold, the sky filling up with the most stunning array of colors, only the plummeting temperature betrayed the warm dying vista. A gust of wind raced up his back; he would soon chill to the bone, he could not and would not last another night exposed like this. I knew it and he was smart enough to know it too. The fjord was no place for a boy.

He rested his hand on a tree and caught his breath; the cloth across his face ballooning with steam before he pulled it off and sucked in the dry bitter air. Even then it was hard to breathe; he felt his lungs slowly drying up as he gulped in the air they burned for, his little chest heaving up and down under his jacket. His breath collected on his brow and slowly froze; he could feel his blood settling and with it brought all pain that he had been postponing through the day on his long track towards the sheep trail. His knees ached, his back fatigued, his toes numb, anything and everything of his hurt, he felt blunt.

Reaching into his sack he pulled out the last crust of bread and broke it in two. He had to save as much as he could but he wouldn't die because of an empty stomach; biting down hard on the stale bread he cracking off a piece. Even to eat hurt, his lips so chapped that they cracked and split as he opened his mouth, the bread cold and stale scrapping the soft roof of his mouth. He bent down and cupped a palm full snow and plowed it to his mouth, the cool brought some welcomed relief. In the distance there sounded a faint rumble and then a rush of wind skipped by.

I had seen it many times before and could tell what was coming and the manner in which he propped up his head he had heard the sound to too, another tempest was brewing. Kristoff began marching again, double quick this time. An outcropping of rocks a few hundred meters ahead of him had caught his attention, the incline was manageable for an adult but for a child in the fresh snow it would be a labor. Yet onward he pushed, with gumption the likes of which was a rarity even in someone three times his age. If there was a chance, he would take it.

Another gentle rumble sounded off, it couldn't have been more then a few hours away. The cold, the dark, the fury, it was all barreling his way. He couldn't feel his own thoughts tumbling about his head; he never slept well outdoors instead preferring the warmth of the hay pile he shared the back corner of at the Ice Harvester's barn with Sven. There wasn't much space between the supplies but what space there was, was filled with warmth and love, now it all felt like a lifetime away, even the cold could numb the memory.

Suddenly the snow bank beneath him gave way, the fall was short but what had created the bank also had made a pocket in the snow, Kristoff tried to catch himself but rolled his ankle in the process, clutching his foot in pain he rolled around on the hard dirt. After a moment has passed he propped his head up to see what had created the pocket and his widened. There, illuminated by the full moon on this crisp night was part of Ice Harvester's work sled on its side in the snow. The out cropping of rocks was now not more than a short distance away, if he could get the sled to the rock face he would have shelter, he would have a chance!

He hopped up and tossed his bag onto the sled, plunging his hand into his bag he took out his ax, it was the only thing he managed to find in the snow when the tempest first rolled into camp. He quickly went to work using his arm and the ax to clear off the snow that had accumulated on top of it. Only the half of the sled had survived; the storms winds had stampeded down the narrow fjord with such swiftness and force that the first few tents carried off the men sleeping inside them, their desperate screams quickly drowned out by the sounds of rushing snow; they had been spared, fortunate to have made camp next to a boulder that sheltered them during those long hours. He wondered where Sven was and hoped he was ok.

Kristoff suddenly stopped, in the snow rested a two long strips of leather made stiff by the cold, the stitching and patches where the color had been worn through use told him that they were the reigns and he had found the front half of the sled; what, he wonder now, was what they were still attached to. He slowly made his way around the sled and a few feet ahead of him rested two mounds, the only things that disturbed the otherwise flat and tranquil landscape. The leather straps rested in his hand, he slowly pulled them up and watched them cut a trail through the snow curving directly towards the mounds, clutching his axe he followed the path and approached.

Although time was against him Kristoff approached slowly, stopping to kneel down and rest his hand atop the mound, the snow a pillow for his glove. The preceding edge of the storm had reached him and now moonlight came in bursts through the clouds. He brushed some snow off, underneath it fur, frozen and stiff, it was the hindquarter of a reindeer; he looked up and saw the remainder of the mound ahead of him, the snow soft, peaceful and undisturbed. He didn't want to think about whether or not poor beast froze to death or was lucky enough to be claimed in the storm but it came to rest with the connecting post between its legs, the bitter cold and drying wind seized up the once soft flesh around the wooden beam; hot tear rolled down his cheek and slowly froze.

Kristoff peeled off his fur cap and tousled his damp blonde hair, he felt like he was being smothered but this was no time to seek to comfort, the storm was fast approaching. He went back to shoveling the snow around the frozen creature, clawing as much as he could with his little hands. The cold pierced his gloves, his fingers felt foreign to him and for a moment Kristoff worried if frostbite had already set in. But the thought was rudely interrupt by the grizzle scene hidden under snow. He now knew how the poor creature met its demise.

The once pure white driven snow atop gave way to shades of deep crimson. Each layer becoming increasing filled with color, until he finally reached the bottom; there before him in the pale moonlight massive gashes where the flesh has been rendered from its owner, the bone white as the moon drying in the evening air. Not by way of steel or stone but by savage tooth, strips of flesh frozen hung in the air as if stopped by time; the blood that had pooled about it and froze in the snow now looked like jelly. Kristoff had seen this before, he had once forgotten a sheep in the field and found it the next morning against a tree its throat torn asunder, entire chunks ripped apart, fought over and its carcass for left the crows. It was never an easy sight and he felt the rough bread tumble about in his stomach trying to make its way out, but gulping another palm full of clean snow and he held fast, placing the cloth back across his face set himself to the grim task ahead of him.

In way Kristoff was glad to see what he came across, the impending storm must has scared them off, there would be less flesh to cut through and he could work undisturbed. And I tell you what happened next then even shocked me, for someone so small to have a spirit of fortitude so large seem almost unfathomable, yet there he stood a boy, cold and alone square in the sights of an approaching blizzard and he set to work, he would not be one to die from lack effort. The fabric on across his billowed as he pondered the next few moments before raising the ax bring it down hard unto the leg. His effort was full of spirit but the ax head slipped off the bone and he nearly lost his balance, the inexperience of youth may very well be his downfall but Kristoff stood up, squared his hips and continued.

The cold made the flesh tough, bracing itself around the bone and holding it together against blows of his little ax. The exposed bone glowing in the moonlight teasing him with how little progress he had made. Letting the ax drop to his side he felt defeated, his arms felt heavy, his chest heaving clouds of hot labored breath into the night sky, fatigue again reared its ugly head. Looking back down to the bone he though how cruel and unfair of fate to tease him like this, if he could just cut through it he could have shelter for a night, he could have a chance, it was all so very close.

His blood boiled, stumbling a bit in the snow he raised his ax with a burning rage and brought it down savagely at its target not noticing that the ax head was facing the wrong way. Once focused swings now gave way to sloppy desperate strikes, he wailed away at his target the metal ax bouncing again and again against the bone. The sound of sickeningly high pitched ping of bone on steel echoing off of the mountain face mixed with his boy's own frantic screams of desperation and zeal to live. Then something different, the sound of a snap, Kristoff looked down and saw that back of the ax head had begun cracking the bone; hours in the cold had made the flesh tough but the bone brittle. Overjoyed he took his stance and began striking at the bone with focus.

He missed Sven.

Thwack.

He missed their warm barn.

Thwack.

He missed the hot chunky stew.

Thwack.

He missed the sounds of laugher from the ice harvesters that emanating through rafters.

Thwack.

All he wanted was to go home.

Crack!

Finally he was through, the bone submitting to the boy's blows, now only a few inches of flesh and a few feet snow to the rock out cropping lay between him victory, between life and death. He set to work on the flesh, its texture was like tough jerky, it gripped the blade as if to hold it and him in place for the approaching storm, but I tell you this boy was determined. Kristoff placed his aching foot atop the leg and bared down hard pulling against the ax, a shot of pain from his wounded ankle made him wince but he endured it and freed the ax head; a few more blows and finally the leg was separated from its owner and not moment too soon.

The wind was still as the snow gently started falling and at any other moment in Kristoff's life it would've been a beautiful sight to behold, but he had spent enough time on the mountain to know that this gentle scene was a harbinger of death. Freed from the body, he now only had to drag the section of the sled only a few dozen feet to the rocks and he would have his shelter. He pulled the wooden beam up atop his shoulder and felt its corners unforgivingly dig into him; his right foot pulsed with pain under the new heavy load it now had to endure. Trying to keep as little pressure on the wounded leg as possible, he gulped down another lung full of the frigid air as he drove his heel deep into the snow and pulled hard.

The sled only budge slightly under his efforts, what once hauled huge blocks heavy ice of across the arctic tundra on the backs of burly beasts now dragged along the cold ground on the back of a boy. He wrestled with the beam again, resettled it on this shoulder and pulled. The snow piled up in front of the sled slowing down the already backbreaking crawl. Ever step harder than the last, the mere yards to the outcropping must have felt like miles to him, the snow now coming down horizontally, blowing with such wicked bitterness into his face that his eyes felt like chunks of ice in his skull. Soon enough he brought the broken half of the sled to rest up against the rough rock face. He had his shelter.

Quickly scampered his way in, from his new home he heard sounds of the wind whipping about, the trees bearing the brunt of the icy storm. In the pitch black he packed the snow against the rock and sled only a few beams of moon aided him, trying as best he could went to work sealing himself from the wind that made its way through the gaps and soon all that could be heard were the muffled sounds of a storm that raged on. I could only imagine what this little boy was thinking, what prayers crossed his lips rising into the in air in little clouds, and I wondered if they were for him or for the others.

After what felt like hours I thought the fjord had finally claimed him, I approached the little frozen tomb when suddenly I saw it. Smoke, it was smoke coming from under the sled! I quickly ran to the shelter, the smoke had melted a small path through the snow that had accumulated atop the seld, and I approached the gap and peered in. There sat Kristoff atop his sack tired, shivering, hugging knees and rubbing his swollen ankle, his ax still in his hand as if frozen solid by the storm and before him a pitiful but warmly welcomed little fire; its fuel the scraps of his prized sled that him and Sven had loved and work on for so many years. He wiped his runny nose on his sleeve before reached into the sack under him, pulling out another large splinter and tossing it onto the fire which puffed up soon after. He rubbed his sore swollen ankle and his stomach grumble, now no longer satiated by handfuls of snow; he pulled out the last crust of bread, said a small prayer and enjoyed his meager meal by the tiny glowing fire.

"I see," said Pabble, his brow-furrowed in worried thought. "Where is the boy now?"

The little troll looked up, his feet still covered in the fresh winter frost that even chilled him.

"He's still out there," the troll gasped for air, still tired after the long run back.

"Still there, alone in cold deep dark, tired, scared, hungry and in pain…but alive!"


End file.
